Lunch: from fuel to fun

Lunch has always been my least favorite meal. Since high school, it's been an ongoing dilemma to find foods that are portable, filling, and that don't need to be reheated/refrigerated. It's even harder when you try to be healthy while doing it. And in college I often had to eat on the go, so I needed food that was inconspicuous and odor free. There aren't a lot of foods that fit these parameters. And those that do are bland and uninteresting.

So I've taken very little delight in lunch; it's simply fuel to ensure I survive until my next meal.

Some people can pack a simple sandwich or throw a granola bar into their purse and consider themselves prepared for midday, but my appetite has always been too ravenous for such measly helpings. Others forget lunch altogether, to which I say, do you forget to get dressed in the mornings, too?

But as my schedule calmed down and my body required less fuel to get from one place to another (those hills at BYU are mean), I was able to gradually reduce the size of my lunches.

Not only that, but I think my metabolism is starting to slow down, as well. I got down to a sandwich + one side for lunch, and that's not even the weirdest thing. I no longer need toast to complement my breakfasts in the mornings. Noon rolls around and my stomach isn't imploding with hollowness. The work day ends and I sometimes have the stamina to consider taking my evening walk before eating dinner.

I am no longer the hungry person I once was.

This decrease in appetite happened around the same time I finally decided I had had enough of sandwiches. Even homemade bread wasn't enough to ensure my faithfulness of 10+ years.

So I made possibly the biggest food-related change of my entire life: I ditched the sandwiches and started experimenting with salads.

Let me clarify a few things before you die of shock. I did not go full-out vegetarian. Any time I eat a meal that is heavy on the fruits and vegetables, I feel deprived for the rest of the day and seek comfort in donuts, ice cream, and all things salty to compensate for my lack. Any meal that doesn't include meat and cheese just isn't a proper meal, in my opinion.

This drastic change was merely an opportunity for me to make lunch fun again, to stop eating the same boring thing every day. Even if it meant more time in the kitchen cutting up vegetables.

Some of the experiments didn't impress me, like this Italian Tuna and Rice Salad. The olives were delightful, though.

This experiment would repulse tomato haters, but scored with me (after I added some chicken, of course).

But things got even more fun when I finally stepped out of my comfort zone and tried out a new grocery store: Trader Joe's. My coworkers who truly care about the food they consume swear by Trader Joe's, so I decided to try it out. And let me just say, I haven't had so much fun grocery shopping in a long time. The store is small, so you don't waste any time traveling through miles and miles of aisles, making the hunt for specific items so much easier. And so far, everything I've tried has been a hit: the carrot-cake cookies, the tomatoes, the applesauce, and the concoctions I threw together for lunch.

Not lunch, but delightful all the same.

You hungry yet? Let the fun commence!

A weekend with girls

I went to a Relief Society retreat in Midway over the weekend. It was a smashing success, but there were a couple of head-scratchers that I'm pretty sure wouldn't have happened if this was a retreat for guys:

• There was tons of food leftover, including a whole pizza and dozens of cookies (I was one of the few who actually ate more than one slice of pizza).
• We played a game designed primarily to quiz us on how well we knew each others' names.
• When we finally went to bed, it was floor space that was claimed first, not beds and couches. Two beds and two couches were left sad and lonely all night. Apparently girls' need for togetherness supersedes comfort. Don't ask me to explain it—I slept on a double all by myself and I have no regrets.

But there were some girlisms that I didn't mind so much:

• Like the amazingly comfortable fuzzy socks that came with our handout.

And, that's it.

Luckily, I eventually learned that there were several fellow BYU basketball junkies in attendance—finally something I understood. Except right now I'm wishing I didn't care about sports—it has not been a good year for BYU fans.

It probably won't surprise anyone that my favorite part of the whole weekend was the breakfast send-off. Breakfast burritos are an excellent choice any time of day (even though the eggs were a bit too salty, even for me), but it was the French toast that made me forget about all the bad things in the world. That sauce—oh, that sauce. The two minutes I spent eating each delicious morsel were some of the best moments of my life. If the new bishopric was trying to impress us, let me tell you—it worked. 

Boldness in the kitchen

Cooking for one person has its advantages. I don't have to cook new food that often, for one, because sometimes it takes over a week to eat all the leftovers.

But it also has its disadvantages. Like eating the same leftovers for over a week. And less motivation to cook, period, because there's no one to impress but myself.

But sometimes I put in the effort anyway. This weekend, for instance, I made two things I've never made before: Easy Broccolini Flounder Bake and applesauce.

The flounder dish I got from The Skinnytaste Cookbook, which is based on a food blog I follow that has yielded some tasty food. I don't cook fish that often, but in the spirit of trying new things, I decided to give it a shot.

It was actually pretty simple to make, and I only set off my hyper-sensitive fire alarm once. First I grilled some colorful veggies.

And then I threw them on top of seasoned cod (I couldn't find any flounder, and besides, I feel uncomfortable eating something that shares the same name of one of the characters in my favorite childhood movie), and let the oven do the rest of the work. Twenty minutes later, I had a lovely meal waiting to be consumed over some good magazine reading.

To be honest, I wasn't blown away by its tastiness, but I won't have any trouble eating it for the next few days, either. The tomatoes were my favorite part, unsurprisingly.

Now, the homemade applesauce—that didn't disappoint. I know pumpkin is all the rage these days, but nothing can compare to apples, in my opinion. I used to help Mom can apples when I was a kid, which is hard but immensely satisfying work. Especially if you get to sample fresh, hot applesauce before packing it away. (This is the sole reason I often heat up my applesauce before I eat it, in a feeble attempt to whisk myself back to my childhood, when certain things tasted better.) Sometimes at night, I would sneak into the fruit room and eat an entire bottle of sliced apples. There's no way my stomach could handle that much fruit now, but at the time those apples were simply too delicious to stop eating.

So I started with these apples,

which were promptly peeled, chopped, and thrown into a pot.

I threw in some lemon juice, cinnamon, and brown sugar, and let the crock pot do the rest for me. (Aside from the occasional stirring on my part.) For the next six hours, the smell in my apartment got more and more intoxicating.

A few hours after sunset, I was impatiently waiting for my bowl of applesauce to cool a little bit so I could see if it tasted as good as it smelled.

It tasted better.

Seriously, it's like eating apple pie, but without the crust. I am completely in love with it, and I don't think I'll ever buy pre-made applesauce ever again. This experiment in the kitchen paid off big time.

Taking pictures of your food is almost as much work as preparing it. But there's something about this blog series that has inspired me to use more pictures. You're welcome.

Tradition

When I was little, my parents discovered the most wonderful place: Tepanyaki. It was a paradise of food entertainment, intoxicating smells, and wonderful, wonderful food. My parents liked it so much that they decided to risk taking their five small children there. At the same time.

And thus began the traditional, once-a-year outing, one we took in honor of the August birthdays and then in honor of the August and September birthdays (today there are six in all).

Yesterday I prepared myself appropriately for this great event. I didn't make myself eat carrots for lunch because I knew I'd be getting a healthy helping of vegetables at dinner. I didn't eat anything after 1:00 p.m. to ensure I would be adequately starving by the time dinner was served. I blotted out my dinner plans for the next two nights because even after eating my delicious fill, I would still have leftovers to enjoy the next day.

But then, just minutes before arriving at the restaurant, I got a call from my dad: Tepanyaki was closed. Not just for dinner, but forever. No more giant waves of flame at the dinner table. No more onion-ring volcanoes. No more being served airborne shrimp.

We had a terrible crisis on our hands.

I was all for succumbing to the depression of foiled dinner plans and tarnished memories, but Tiffany and Jeremy immediately presented us with a way salvage our Autumnal birthday celebration in the future: go to Tucanos instead. With its endless array of food fit for the Carnivore Kings that we are (not to mention the mashed potatoes are to die for), we all agreed this was an acceptable alternative.

And thus a new tradition was born.

I am not one that generally welcomes change, and seeing one of my favorite, 15-year-old traditions come to an end was heartbreaking in a way. It was at Tepanyaki, not Tucanos, that we fed two-year-old Shannan the onion soup just so we could laugh at her facial expressions. It was at Tepanyaki, not Tucanos, that Dad taught us how to eat with chopsticks (of course, most of us gave up on those silly sticks when the growling of our stomachs got louder than the sizzling meat on the table). We didn't need menus because we had our meals picked out a year in advance; it was okay if we didn't understand what the chef was saying because we had his "script" memorized better than he did; we knew which tricks to watch for and they never got old. We were the most loyal once-a-year customers at the place.

I would have gladly kept that tradition going forever, but maybe it's not such a bad thing that circumstances have forced us to change. A similar thing happened when we discontinued our Rushton/Carter Christmas Eve celebration so we could celebrate that special night with our own families. It was sad at first, but it was necessary in order to create new cherishable memories.

Only time will tell what how Tucanos will contribute to our August/September birthday dinner. In the meantime, though, I'm glad there's still a Tepanyaki in Lehi.

The Coupon Lady

I am the absolute worst at picking the fast check-out line at the grocery store. Usually, I have fewer than 15 items, which allows me to whiz through the line without putting a damper on my mood, but today I wasn't so lucky. I rejoiced last week when I discovered I didn't need to replenish my milk and bread supply for the week, but I paid for it today when I had to buy twice as many groceries and take my place in the horribly long lines of Walmart.

Today I thought I had picked a good line for once; there were only two customers in front of me, one of whom was already paying. What I failed to notice, however, was that I had just parked behind every hurried shopper's worst nightmare.

The Coupon Lady.

Not quite ready to lose my spot, I got on my tippie toes and stretched my neck to its fullest capacity in an attempt to furtively analyze the lines adjacent to me; as far as I could tell, every line had at least two or three customers.

So I decided to risk it; I stayed behind the Coupon Lady as she unloaded her alarmingly full cart.

If you ever find yourself in this situation, don't stop to think--just get into another line.

Because I clearly made the wrong decision.

Hidden in the recesses of Coupon Lady's hoodie was a massive pile of coupons big enough to keep a wet campfire going for three days. She then proceeded to count out all 237 of her cans and make sure each one got to use its special coupon. She jotted down notes on how much each type of processed food cost. Then she moved on to the 42 boxes of frozen pizzas, the three turkeys, the cans of ice-cream and soda, and the other tiny items like yogurt that fell through the cracks of her 700 pounds of food.

All this time I was having an intense debate with myself: should I move? should I stay put? I compromised by staying put and plastering an immensely annoyed look on my face. At least three people got in line behind me and then left to find another line while I stayed there, trying not to lash out violently every time Coupon Lady stopped Bag Boy so that she could rifle through her stupid coupons.

I almost cried for joy when the last yogurt made it to the check-out strip thing (the name of which escapes me at the moment), but then she started double-checking all of her coupons and casually glancing through her tree for that last coupon that would undoubtedly save her three cents.

Then I got my lucky break; the empty lane next to me opened up, and I shot over there before anyone else had a chance to move. By the time I was finally rolling my cart out of that cursed place, Coupon Lady was still checking out, but by now word had gotten out that a religiously fanatic coupon lady was proselyting on aisle 16, so everyone steered clear of her.

At this point my plans to make an extravagant meal (the ingredients of which I had painstakingly sought out today) had turned into plans to heat up some beef fajitas for dinner. That plan was further reinforced when I had to traverse through 15 miles of parking lot from where I parked my car to my apartment, loaded down with my purse, two gallons of milk, and nine shopping bags. At this point I was too ornery, too starving, and too tired to put forth any more non-required effort.

Add the horrible Coupon Lady to yet another reason why you should not shop hungry. It probably doesn't help to shop when you're powered on only two measly hours of sleep, either.

Onion days, reunions, peaches, and Lord of the Rings

What do all of the above have in common? Why, your typical Labor Day weekend, of course.

That is, if you hail from the town of Payson, Utah, and just happen to be a Lord of the Rings fan.

Nobody can quite do Labor Day like Payson can, which is probably why Labor Day has always been one of my favorite holidays. I love driving down 3rd South and seeing the flurry of little families and teenagers teeming around the booths and rides at the park. Every year brings stories of how someone puked while riding the Ring of Fire, or how someone snuck their dog on that ride before rules and regulations ruined all of our fun. We haven't gone to the parade for a couple of years, but I always enjoyed seeing the faithfuls in their traditional spots, waiting for the festivities to kick off.

For me, Labor Day also signifies the unofficial end of summer; it's my last chance to work on my tan, to wear shorts, or to throw around that baseball. After Labor Day is over, it's time to pack up the shorts and pull out the sweaters and socks, time to say good-bye to long summer days and welcome back long autumn nights, time to set aside leisure pursuits and jump back into insane productivity.

As I've said before, it's a marvelous time of year. I'm never sad to see summer go (even though it feels like it was only two weeks long this year).

So, minus the parade, I had my typical Labor Day weekend.

On Friday, I

• left work a tad early (after enduring an insanely long week in anticipation of a three-day weekend),
• was stuck in traffic for two hours,
• and spent the rest of the night snacking on food and watching movies.

On Saturday, I

• went to my high school five-year reunion (yay class of 2006!). In typical Payson fashion, invitations were sent out through Facbook and no other medium (as far as I'm aware), it was held in the high school lunch room (which I never actually ate in), those who didn't pay in advance were told they could not eat, and the only people who came were the student council and a bunch of choir/band people, plus a few others (all the people I either hung out with or wanted to hang out with. . . .) And, just like in high school, my cousin and I sat in the corner and watched everyone while everyone else talked about whatever popular kids talk about (in this case it was undoubtedly spouses, babies, and work). I think the theme was: show up and talk to people in the sort-of smelly lunchroom. Maybe when I'm old like my parents (they had their 30th this weekend) I'll get to go to a non-hick HS reunion. Probably not though.
• watched the first BYU football game of the season!!! Anticipation was high at our house, and my dad and Jeremy S. celebrated by watching football for about a million hours straight. (Dad and Jeremy kept saying that we will surely play football in heaven, while Mom argued that the only thing eternal about football is the length of the games.) Nonetheless, we were all excited to see BYU play again, and even though it was a mostly boring game, BYU came out on top, making everything right in the universe once more.
• ate barbecued hamburgers and home-made sweet rolls.
• sat on the porch and talked as the sun set.

On Sunday, I

• attended church in my home ward. Sadly, though, I think most of the people my age have moved beyond coming home for the holidays.
• took a glorious Sunday nap that only comes with 9:00 church.
• watched the first half of The Return of the King.
• watched The Count of Monte Cristo (we're trying to warm Jeremy B. up to the Carters' talent for movie-watching).

And on Monday, I

• got up early (for me) and read my book outside.
• went to lunch at La Casita with the fam. It has been far too long since I have been there.
• went to Payson Community Theater's play. This year was Jekyll and Hyde and it was AMAZING. This is probably the sketchiest play PCT has ever done, and it was still toned down a bit (the "Bring on the Men" scene was a lot more awkward when I saw it in Lehi a few years ago), but, aside from the very warm and very cramped room, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Jekyll/Hyde was incredible. He pretty much gave me goosebumps every time he opened his mouth. It's amazing how much talent there is in the world, even among the not famous.
• went to Grandpa Jackson's for the traditional birthday party (and this year, his birthday actually was on Labor Day). This usually means that we see see a relative we haven't seen for a long time (in this case, Shelly and some of her family) and eat fresh produce (thus the peaches reference) while enjoying one of the last nice days of the year. However, this year's Labor Day was a little bit chilly, which was perfect for . . .
• watching the final half of The Return of the King.

And, oddly enough, despite the wonderfulness of Labor Day traditions, it's usually not hard to return to reality, like it is with most other holidays. Labor Day signifies a new beginning of sorts, and who doesn't like a fresh start?

Taste and the rapid journey through time

Lately I've been trying to be more creative in my grocery-shopping endeavors. Despite my increased amount of time and income, I still find that I buy mostly college food, the five staples being milk, bread, chicken patties, chips & salsa, and applesauce. I still prepare my standard four things for my lunches, which is barely enough to tide me over until an early dinner, and I often find myself whipping up a good ol' college dinner of loaded instant potatoes and oven-baked chicken patties.

The cost of "real" food hasn't been the issue here, but rather the effort it requires to make it edible. And the fact that I'm usually just cooking for me (I sometimes wonder if my roommate understands the meaning of "three meals a day"), which means if I make something awesome I'll be eating leftovers for several days.

So, I have been trying a little harder to expand my food horizon and to make sure I have more entertaining things to at least snack on or pack in my lunch. After all, everyone knows that I love food, and it would be a shame to continue the college tradition of cheap, convenient, and passably good food.

This plan has backfired somewhat, as I've bought stuff like Nutella (I recently discovered the stuff and now I'm addicted) and little goodies wrapped in convenient little packages. So I've been making myself browse the fresh produce section of Smith's for more than just carrots (blech--see, I do care about my physical well-being, otherwise I wouldn't keep forcing myself to eat raw carrots sans Ranch during my trapped-in-the-office lunch hours).

Unfortunately though, I'm not a big fan of fresh fruits and veggies. I love applesauce, apple juice, and apple pie, but I rarely eat just a plain apple. Cooked carrots are yummy, but I've developed something of a repulsion for raw ones. I usually buy pre-made salad rather than lettuce because I'm too lazy to cut it up. Raw broccoli is yucky, but I love it when it's cooked. I love dried apricots, but fresh ones aren't that tasty. Even peaches and strawberries usually end up getting smushed up a bit and sprinkled with sugar before I feel comfortable eating them. (However, I absolutely LOVE fresh pears, tomatoes, and corn, though they must be of the homegrown variety, preferably from Grandpa Jackson's garden.)

Wow. It's taking me a really long time to get to my point. Fast forward to when, a few weeks ago, a saw a line of dried fruits in colorful little bags--apricots, apples, cherries, etc.--and decided to check them out. Usually I buy craisens, but, because I was being adventurous, I picked the dried cherries instead, a food I haven't tasted in at least 15 years but vaguely remembered loving when I was really little.

Well, today I opened that bag of dried cherries. The smell wasn't particularly inviting, but I popped a few in my mouth anyway. After chewing for a few seconds, the flavor exploded in my mouth and sent my taste buds a-flurry, and my mind was flooded with memories from my childhood--sneaking dried cherries from Grandma Jackson's living room that Grandpa had brought home from the cherry plant, rediscovering my love for them when a friend in 4th grade shared her lunch with me, and working in the cherry plant during two horrible summers (incidentally, I can no longer eat fresh cherries, but, again, I will devour them in pies or in dry form).

I don't think I've ever experienced so many sensations from eating just one small thing. I've heard that, of the five senses, smell is the one most strongly associated with memories, but I think taste should go right up there with smell. Simply by chewing a few dried cherries today, I remembered the delight I felt as I whenever Grandpa brought them home, and I remembered things I had completely forgotten about, particularly experiences I had while living with Grandma and Grandpa Jackson. All in just a few seconds.

For example, I remember eyeing the bucket of dried cherries when Mom told me that someone had been fired (at my dad's work, I think) and I immediately envisioned a man being engulfed by a ring of fire while his wife and small children watched in tears; I then lived in fear for a few days that my dad would get "fired." I remember lining up against the wall with Tiffany on the first day of school to sport our brand-new clothes, and that everyone commented on the fact that I was almost as tall as Tiffany (though it would be years before I finally outgrew her for good). I remember eating those cherries with Tiffany and getting a stomach ache. I remember visiting Kimberly in the hospital when she was born, and that Tiffany shut my fingers in the car door and we had to go back inside the hospital to get a band-aid to make my injury all better. I remember the time that me, Mom, Grandma Jackson, and Kimberly were running errands, and I looked back at Kimberly in her car seat and her face was covered in blood because she could not scratching those mosquito bites. I remember the time Mom and Dad took us to fly kites in the big field across the street from the grandparents' house; it was extremely windy, the weeds were almost as tall as I was, and I had an Ariel kite that didn't fly very good (I think Kimberly had Flounder, who took to flying much better than Ariel did).

Not all of these memories have anything to do with dried cherries (at least, I don't think so; for all I know, I could have been hoarding a bag of cherries in my pocket when Dad took us to see Kimberly, or I could have been craving them when Mom and Dad spontaneously took us kite-flying). But somehow, eating those dried cherries today unleashed a torrent of memories from the short period of time during which I was obsessed with those dried-up little morsels of fruit.

Food is a powerful thing, y'all.

No more pizza for the Carters

In a household of busy individuals--two working parents, several grown, active children with various interests and time constraints--mealtime is often a hastily planned affair, not always resulting in a perfect home-cooked meal, hot and ready the minute Dad gets home.

In fact, dinnertime at the Carter household often sits on one of the polar ends--chaos or nonexistence.

But even though we have tried not to use this option, we always knew that we could just order pizza from Domino's, or ask someone to bring some food home when they got off work. And frankly, that made things a lot easier at times. It was comforting to know that we would always have pizza to fall back on.

Domino's also offered a significant source of income for most of our family. My Dad was able to bring in much-needed income for family finances, me, Tiffany, and Tyrel were able to pay for most, if not all, of our college expenses, several cars were paid for with Domino's savings, and Kimberly and I were able to pay for most of our high school expenses (including choir tour) with Domino's money. Tip money paid for food and gas, both for the family and for those of us off on our own at BYU.

In short, Domino's kept us alive through the years, whether it was through free food or extra cash.

I'm kind of guessing here, but our family--me, my dad, two of my sisters, and my brother--combine to about 25 years of Domino's employment, and that's not counting all the cousins, neighbors, and friends who joined the business because we are so awesome.

Sadly, those days have come to an end. All four of Bart's stores--Santaquin, Payson, Spanish Fork, and Springville--have closed. No more fall-back employment for us, and no more free pizza. We can't even count on the old pizza standby when we are too tired to find something to eat because the stores simply aren't there anymore. Sure, we could still order from Pizza Hut or Fat Jacks, but it would cost three times more, and we would feel like vile betrayers. And the corporate Domino's stores just aren't the same, not to mention the fact that they are far away from Elk Ridge.

Thankfully, I think we've all gained independence outside of Domino's. My dad finally finished his degree and has a better job, Tiffany and I are both college grads with careers, Kimberly has adjusted to BYU employment, and Tyrel has switched over to the other family business--Liberty Press. Shannan is just going to have to find her own way to independence, I guess.

I worked at Domino's for 5 years, 3 as a driver, which involved many opening and closing shifts, and lots and lots of consumption of pizza. Most of the managers I worked with can't eat pizza anymore, but I never had that difficulty. Sure, I got sick of it and had to get increasingly more creative with my pizza creations, but I could still stomach the stuff most of the time, and after I quit I found myself craving a ham-mushroom-olive-onion-extra-cheese pizza all the time. It was comforting to know that that pizza would always be there for me at a reduced--if not free--price.

But alas, all good things must come to an end, even if the end was capsized by incompetent management. Domino's was a big part of my life for a long time, full of awesome people (and not-so-awesome people), awesome stories and rants, and easy dinner options. As much as we all may have hated it at times, I'm glad that we Carters had Domino's all these years.

Wow. This entry wasn't supposed to be a cheesy tribute to Domino's Pizza. Maybe I'll do a rant post later on, telling some of my more colorful pizza-delivering stories. That'll be a much longer entry.